


First Love / Late Spring

by aurics



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Spoilers for movie, spoilers post chapter 28
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: They found each other in pieces, but now they are standing at an empty street as two complete people, content in their own selves, holding each other’s hands not for survival but for a partnership they pour their whole hearts in.(Akihiko and Haruki navigate their newfound relationship, built over their old one, together.)
Relationships: Kaji Akihiko/Nakayama Haruki
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	First Love / Late Spring

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a haze of emotions after watching the Given movie ahhaha... so warnings for mild spoilers! 
> 
> I know we see Haruki's insecure side quite a bit, but after that confession scene I wondered what it would be like to have Akihiko be in a position of emotional uncertainty/insecurity. It was meant to be just a drabble about that and then I just... ended up writing more scenes...
> 
> I love this pairing so much, they truly make my heart hurt and heal in equal parts ♥
> 
> (Title from Mitski's song of the same name)

The grass has turned an almost unbearable shade of green by now, and the cherry blossom petals have long since turned white with the onset of warmer weather.

The world has rolled into its phases and still, Akihiko finds himself trembling when his hand inches closer to Haruki’s—so close, it’s _right there_ —paralysed only a minute distance away. It should be so easy, shouldn’t it? To intertwine their fingers together, to anchor Haruki by his side, to feel the warmth from his palm as a reminder of what he’s allowed to do.

“Akihiko? Your fried rice is going to grow cold if you space out like that.”

Haruki’s voice pulls him back down to earth—as it always does. Akihiko blinks away the haze clouding his head and tries, instead, to focus on the plate in front of him. It’s piled with the fried rice he’d thrown together just a while ago—nothing special, pathetic-looking in fact, with all the wilted-looking vegetables peeking out. Yet Haruki is downing each spoonful delicately, like it’s gourmet or something. Like it’s enough of an offering in exchange for something as wonderful as spending the night here.

Here. In Haruki’s apartment. With Haruki. In Haruki’s bed. Something Akihiko hasn’t done even after they’ve started going out—not since he’d bowed deep in front of Haruki with what little belongings he had in his hands, a promise to do it _right, this time_ imprinted deep in his chest.

Suddenly his head is spinning and he finds it hard to breathe. In his haze, he reaches for a glass of water a little too quickly and ends up knocking over the tubes of condiments and chilli flakes on the table over, startling Haruki.

“Clumsy,” he chides lightly when Akihiko mutters an apology, lopsided smile around a mouthful of rice. “Alright, out with it. What’s wrong with you? Practice getting hectic again? End of term exams?”

Akihiko shakes his head. “No, those ended a couple of weeks ago.”

“Eh? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We could have celebrated!” Despite his petulant complaint, the glee still bright in Haruki's eyes.

That’s what he is—so bright, all the time, and once upon a time Akihiko had almost extinguished it all—

“And? How did they go?”

Akihiko swallows. “Aced ‘em.”

The pride on Haruki’s face is muted, gentle, and it leaves Akihiko just this side of breathless. “I knew you would. Ah, it’s almost annoying how good you are at everything.”

Akihiko wants to say something—anything—about how just a few months ago he’d been on the verge of failing most of his classes; how none of his supposed musical prowess would have meant a thing if he was so deep in his own head he couldn’t think straight. And how Haruki had cleared the fog in his head like sunshine breaking through grey, heavy clouds that one Spring evening.

Instead he tries, once again, to say what his tongue can’t by placing a hand on top of Haruki’s.

Haruki, whose grip on his chopsticks tighten as Akihiko’s fingers brush against his.

The movement is minute, but enough for it to feel like a slap to Akihiko’s face, or a shove backwards, and he quickly withdraws his hand.

“Hey—no, Akihiko, it’s okay,” Haruki says, quick to pick up on his thoughts and reaching, in vain, for his hand. Akihiko has both of his folded in his lap now, safely out of reach. “Sorry. I was just caught a bit off guard, is all.”

He shakes his head. _'Don’t apologise, please,_ ’ is what Akihiko wants to say, but all that comes out is an exhale—and then a deep, long groan.

“Akihiko?”

He stops his vision from shaking by squeezing his eyes shut tight—but his hand is shaking like crazy, and try as he might he can’t seem to keep them still. With much difficulty, he begins to clench his fists, wanting to ball them so he’s holding onto—touching—nothing but air.

Before he can even open his eyes there are a pair of hands—gentle, so gentle—cradling his face.

“Akihiko. Breathe.”

When he lets out the pent-up breath suppressed in his chest, it comes out as a gasp instead—closer to a sob than an exhale.

And then Haruki is pulling him in—is all around him, gathering Akihiko in his arms. Softly, he threads gentle fingers through Akihiko’s short strands and guides his head to his chest, murmuring soft encouragements. “You’re okay, love.”

The endearment twists at his gut. “This is pathetic,” Akihiko says painfully, more to himself than anyone else. “I’m the one—the one who—and yet you’re the one who has to comfort me, when I’m meant to—when I’m at fau—“

“Am I not allowed to comfort my boyfriend when he’s in distress?” cuts Haruki, a sharpness cutting through his usual soft edges. “Is there something between us that I’m not aware of, that prohibits me from having you near me when I want to?”

“I don’t deserve—“

“Stop feeling like you owe me something, Akihiko,” Haruki’s voice is hard. “No one should start off a relationship with a debt to pay.” Haruki pulls away slightly to look into Akihiko’s eyes, and he briefly wonders what Haruki sees in there that has convinced him to get closer, let alone stay. “We’re doing this together, yeah?”

To an outsider, those four words may not mean very much. They sound so mundane like that, almost matter-of-fact, but it’s what has Akihiko toppling over the edge. Being reassured that it isn’t a mountain he has to climb alone—that Haruki is there to climb alongside him, to pull him up, is the kind of forgiveness capable of putting his guilt at bay.

“I don’t want to do anything that would make you doubt that the slightest. I promise that—that I won’t, because I love you. So much, Haru.”

“I know you’ll keep that promise,” replies Haruki without missing a beat. And then, sighing into Akihiko’s hair with a lingering kiss, he says resolutely, “I trust you.”

* * *

Haruki often catches Akihiko in the act, idly curling a strand of Haruki's hair around his finger—always too short, never long enough to wrap around more than once like it used to be. Sometimes he can feel the tremble in Akihiko's touch, and other times he catches a glimpse—just a split-second—of Akihiko’s face. He never points it out, no matter how embarrassed he gets under Akihiko's careful scrutiny. Somehow, despite Haruki being right there, the moment feels like a private one; like a necessary moment of reflection that Haruki doesn’t want to shatter.

Still, he can’t stand it, the way Akihiko looks every time he indulges in this small habit. So one day he asks, nonchalantly, over the buzz of his hairdryer: “Do you think I should I grow my hair out again?”

Akihiko pauses his absent tapping on the stack of books to look up. That stack of books has somehow found its home by Haruki’s couch like a permanent fixture in his ever-changing apartment, constantly moulding itself around curious habits foreign to Haruki himself. “You look good either way.”

“That’s not what why I’m asking,” huffs Haruki, unable to keep the heat away from his face at Akihiko’s easy flattery. “I think I prefer this shorter ‘do compared to my last one.”

Haruki can hear Akihiko freezing up as he turns back to his books. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies, careful. “I don’t run out of shampoo as quickly anymore.”

Akihiko chuckles. It’s a short, clipped sound, and it sounds sad. Miserable.

 _Heartbroken_ , is what Akihiko looks like each time a strand of Haruki’s hair finds itself around his finger.

“Makes sense,” Akihiko replies.

“You don’t mind, right?”

“It’s your hair, Haru. I don’t think I’m in a position to tell you what to do with your own hair,” he says, eyes still on the books but hands stationary.

“Hmm. Just checking.” Haruki pauses, fighting the wall of embarrassment in his path before blurting out, “You know. Just making sure you’ve still got enough to hold onto when we—yeah.”

There’s silence, before Akihiko chokes and Haruki lets out a loud laugh—and just like that, a little bit of the tension dissipates from the air around them. Just a little bit, but enough for Haruki to lean down and press a soft kiss to Akihiko’s lips—gentle, comforting.

Enough for a smile to find its way onto Akihiko’s lips again, for now.

* * *

Perhaps the cookies are a little outlandish in the midst of their routine—even more so than the lavender, flowery apron Akihiko has on—because Haruki doesn’t pass up the chance to stop deliberately as he enters, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s all this for, now?”

It’s understandable—Akihiko’s not much of sweets man after all, preferring to cook quick and practical savoury meals that are actually _filling_. Cake shops exist for a reason, and one of those reasons is so that people like Akihiko don’t have to spend hours on something that’d be devoured in two bites. But for once, cake shops or bakeries aren’t good enough for his purpose.

Taking his eyes off of the incredibly (frustratingly) delicate job of icing a star-shaped cookie, Akihiko leans up for a kiss. “Mmm,” he hums in lieu of a proper reply.

“Hey, answer the question,” laughs Haruki, pulling away with a hand on Akihiko’s chest. He’s blushing, and Akihiko is both stunned and confused at how Haruki still makes every day feel so novel.

“It’s for our four-month-and-one-week anniversary.”

“Wh—“ The faint blush is now flaring up into scarlet spots. “Now you’re just making up excuses to bake things. No one celebrates such specific anniversaries.”

“I would celebrate every day if I could,” Akihiko says. “Unfortunately, classes get in the way and I can’t spend every night on this baking business.”

A long string of icing shoots out of the piping bag then, courtesy of Akihiko's less-than-stellar control on the grip. He sighs, resigned to the fact that this cookie is now destined for the ‘unfortunate-looking’ pile and stands up to grab some tissues when a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

Warmth consumes him like a heated, weighted blanket. He sinks into the embrace, feeling the buzz of pleasure when Haruki presses his face into the crook of his neck, right where it meets his shoulder. The touch makes him a little tipsy, drunk on affection—all this from a simple hug.

“You’re ridiculous,” sighs Haruki, kissing his neck with trembling lips barely containing a grin. “Just—absolutely impossible.”

“Cookies might get boring after a while, though. So if I want to go through with my plan of celebrating us every day, I’ll have to get creative quick.”

Haruki groans, a little ‘ _uuuhhhh_ ’ sound drawn deep from his gut. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“If you don’t want to eat the cookies, all you have to do is say so,” teases Akihiko. “More for me.”

Of course, Haruki chooses to retaliate by swiping the entire cookie from Akihiko’s hand—with his teeth, causing him to accidentally bite down on one (or a few) of Akihiko’s fingers.

“Ow!” he yelps, then teeters backwards precariously before catching himself on the countertop. In his fall, he’d pulled Haruki along with him, and he’s perched on his chest now, cookie still in his mouth.

Unable to help the laugh that escapes him, Akihiko slides his arms around Haruki’s waist, settling on the small of his back. He leans in to bite at the small cookie, letting their lips brush together. “Eugh,” he pulls a face. “Too much icing.”

“Too sweet,” murmurs Haruki, fingers on Akihiko’s nape as he presses their bodies closer. “Just like you.”

“Haru, that was _terrible_ ,” Akihiko complains, before deciding that the blush across Haruki’s cheeks makes him look too pretty not to kiss.

So he does, leaning in ever so slightly to pull at Haru’s lips with his teeth—and if Haru is licking past his lip piercing and into his mouth a little more enthusiastically than usual, it’s probably just because of the icing.

* * *

“Here.”

Haruki rears back a little as a styrofoam cup is shoved in his face, and he rolls his eyes at Akihiko who is staring steadfastly ahead.

“You really didn’t have to,” Haru mutters, only slightly exasperated. They stop by the sidewalk, waiting for the light to turn green. "I thought you said you were broke.”

“I am. That’s why you’re only getting drinks.”

Haruki can’t help but laugh. “So if you were a rockstar with a big paycheck, what would you get me, huh?”

Akihiko suddenly affixes him with a look so determined and resolute that Haruki feels heat all the way to the tip of his ears, deciding to backtrack. “Wait, nevermind,” he waves his hand, “I don’t think I want to know.”

The light turns green, and just before they set off across the road Akihiko’s cold hand finds Haruki’s warm one. It’s easy, the way their fingers slot between each other’s like this.

“You’re freezing,” Haruki points out. “I keep telling you to use my gloves. I left them at your place last time—you know, the nice, sleek ones? Not the knitted ones, I know you think those are childish.”

“I’m barely cold, you’re exaggerating,” Akihiko replies—and then, at Haruki’s frown, “I have them in safekeeping, don’t worry.”

“The whole point of gloves is to be worn, not to be kept safe, you dolt.”

“It’s barely autumn.”

“That doesn’t matter when the weather is this cold!”

They turn a corner to stand at their bus stop, deserted at this hour. Suddenly, Akihiko turns to face Haruki with a resolute gaze.

“What?” Haruki asks, narrowing his eyes and edging away. “I’m sorry if I complained about your cold hands. Don’t you try to touch my neck with it.”

“Haru,” Akihiko breathes out. “Can I kiss you?”

Haruki blinks. They’ve never done anything more intimate than holding hands in public—not even a hug. “ _Here_?” he asks, a little shrill despite it sounding ridiculous even to his own ears. The street is as crowded as an 8am lecture hall.

“I can wait. But I… I just really want to. Kiss you,” Akihiko pauses, swallows a little, “Right now.”

Haru would be lying if there wasn’t a time he was weary of every one of Akihiko’s needs—a time of constantly attempting to decipher Akihiko's intentions from his cryptic actions. There was a time, too, when all this would have brought forth a new mixture of longing and hurt and wanting and finally, _resignation_.

But they’ve come so far from the pieces that they found each other in before.

He clutches Akihiko’s freezing hand tighter and smiles. Warmth spreads in his chest as Akihiko’s bright, green eyes turn soft.

“Okay,” Haruki whispers before pulling him down.

They found each other in pieces, but now they are standing at an empty street as two complete people, content in their own selves, holding each other’s hands not for survival but for a partnership they pour their whole hearts in.

Now, Haruki can’t imagine a fulfilling life without Akihiko in it.


End file.
